Book i: Fear
by Duune
Summary: Something wrong is afoot in Republic City. Four years after the Amon Crisis, the Avatar and her allies have assumed the roles of normal bending and nonbending teenagers. However, in the midst of what seems to be peace settling upon the city, journalists Jian Gonton and Dyoshin find something far older and more sinister than social unrest...


**_A/n: Hey, everyone. Just a little background about the story- if this becomes a series, it's supposed to be a total re-imagining of the three seasons after Book One: Air of LOK, so the themes are designed to be entirely independent from the official Books 2-4. To avoid confusion, I marked the story Book i, but all of these events happen only four years after the uprising Amon incited. On a side note- apologies for the profanity, I try to use it in a way that hopefully makes banter more like banter and complaints more like complaints. Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you enjoy the story!_**

The cheap yellow tang of the light fixture above Jian Gonton painted the dark moth-eaten fabric of the furniture and spilled softly on the street in a distinct gridlock provided by the teeth of the window; the mullion, the casing, that sort of business. As a journalist, Jian had to know that kind of incessant jargon in order to make himself sound worth listening to, without sounding too pretentious. But more than that, there was a fervent, intensely vacant cold that lay about him, ate into his skin as he stood, half-crouched, half abreast, by the window. Even as he lay in wait by the window sill, it seeped through his leather jacket, lapels jerked up to his ear lobes, gloved hands on his cold-bitten camera tripod. In some way or another, he had to try to get his mind off the cold, the cold that was so deep and so bitter that even with his jacket lined with synthetic fiber and his being inside with the window closed, he was still freezing his ass off.

"Ugggh, I need a coffee. You have a watch, Jian?"

Dyoshin, Jian's partner and their team's writer, rolled his head in annoyance, his sleep-deprived "droopy" eyes that were a hit with girls and an indictor of his mental health to everyone else closed dopily as he spoke. They'd worked together for the past year on political magazines and some gossip tabloids when the need arose, and although they wrote interchangably depending on the article, Dyoshin was the better writer by a longshot.

Jian looked at his wrist, pulling back his tight-fitting jacket sleeve in tugging increments. "Yeah. It's 3:54. If you're tired, just go sleep on the couch or something. I'm the one taking the pictures anyway."

Dyoshin sat up. "I didn't say that. I just want some coffee. From the looks of things we'll probably be out here until, what, six o'clock. All night. I wanna take notes for the article, so I'll be up until you call it quits." Jian turned to look at him. Dyoshin was actually younger than Jian, but it didn't show. Even though he was twenty three, his eyes were dull and he had deep, telling circles underneath black, almond-shaped eyes. His hair was dark, wild, and greasy, symptoms of an extended period of time doing nothing but sitting still. Veins of white streaked through his hair dramatically, too, a testament to unhealthy amounts of stress.

Jian clicked his tongue, craning his neck to look through the lens of his camera. "Don't be difficult. By all means, sleep. My source was shifty anyways. I might be here 'til eight, maybe nine."

"Sounds like a catch."

"Yeah."

"Who was the source? A broker?" Dyoshin said, sarcastically.

"No. Me."

Dyoshin laughed drily, his head falling back on to the head rest. "You can't be serious. Oh man."

"I've got some Yun berry pills in my backpack. Take a few."

"No fucking way. Those are gross."

"So? You'll be wide awake for the rest of the night, and they work better than coffee. Plus it's healthier."

"Yeah, whatever. Coffee's better." Dyoshin muttered under his breath.

Jian scratched the back of his head. "Can't you use your fire-bending to whip up some coffee? There's water at the sink, and I bet you can go to the shop down the street and find a glass and some coffee stuff." For that particular stake-out Jian had rented a hotel room across the street from their object of interest, but it was in the pits of Republic City with nothing but the absolutely essential and a couch. It wasn't awfully comfortable but Jian didn't get into journalism to be comfortable.

Dyoshin deadpanned. "You sound like an old man. And firebending doesn't work that way, I'll probably melt the glass, and I don't wanted to drink melted glass, I want to drink coffee." He raised an eyebrow, and mimicked mockingly, gesturing widely, "Why don't you just water-bend to magically make some coffee?"

"Because it doesn't work that way. I actually have to _have_ water. You can just make fire out of thin air." Besides being a writer-photographer team, Dyoshin and Jian were also the classic bending duo of fire and water. Which, Jian liked to think, made Dyoshin such an emotionally compelling writer while keeping with the facts, and Jian a good watcher and illustrator. "Besides, how am I supposed to make coffee with just water?"

Dyoshin's eyes widened. "Exactly! It's not that simple. You have to have-"

"Shhh." Jian cut him off suddenly. "Shut up."

Dyoshin was hardly a fool, and knowing his partner, his face automatically stiffened. "What? What's going on?"

Jian's eyes were a deadly serious when he looked at Dyoshin. "Quiet."

Dyoshin's expression changed to that of intrigue as Jian turned back to his camera. He moved from the couch silently and knelt down next to his partner, who was intent on whatever was on the other end of the camera. "What is it?"

"Shhh." Jian repeated, much more softly this time.

It was completely silent for a number of seconds. Jian flipped the lights off from the switch on the wall beside the window and settled back into a crouch. Dyoshin could feel blood dissipate from his face as the darkness and absence of sound continued. It was too dark to register what Jian was fixated on, but, having worked with him for at least a year, he decided to trust him. The silence and blackness drew on, and Dyoshin could hear his blood thudding in his ears. Then, all at once, Jian's camera flashed blindingly, and a high, convulsing scream tore the air violently, making Dyoshin fall back in terror and Jian press his knuckles white as pure ivory on the camera.

Dyoshin's open mouth twitched for at length while Jian quickly shoved his supplies in his bag. "What the hell was that?!" He shouted alarmingly.

Jian slammed open the camera's back panel and deftly pulled out the film, saying nothing as he got up, threw on his backpack, and snatched Dyoshin's hand with his free one to pull him up to his feet. "Jian, what was that?" Dyoshin cried again, frantically this time.

Jian turned to him, shoved the film in Dyoshin's other hand, and made for the door. "It's our next big break, as cheesy as it sounds." He laughed a little sardonically as he opened the door and sprinted down the hall, Dyoshin still in tow. "Come on, let's get moving. We've gotta run."

Dyoshin looked down at the film as he ran. It was a little hard to make out, since he was moving, but in the last panel, he could see a figure. It was extended into a tall, obtuse stance, meandering at the back wall of the alley they were facing with an inexplicable aimlessness. Its face was turned toward the photo's source- the camera- so that the flash illuminated its naked, clearly female features: all pale, slender, and very pretty, but the face...

"Oh man," Dyoshin breathed in terror.

It had no face.


End file.
